Purgatory of the Angels
by In Christ Alone
Summary: When events, written only in the oldest prophecies, start coming to pass, the fragile world of new is put to the breaking point. And this time, there is no blur between the fairy world and the human world: they are all decimated. Literal brimstone and fire, war, disease, and a one-world government are only half of the battle that is to come.
1. Island of Patmos- Part 1

**Hello, oh Fanfiction. My name, (err... obviously, by the username above) is 'In Christ Alone', and here is moi first, humble story onthis site. Although I have been fan- ficcing for over a year, I just now have this account. So… ya. This fic is rated T for Violence, Action, and maybe some romance. There will NEVER be adult content or swear words in my fics, as I strive not to get involved in such things. So no worries, for any of ya'll who do. J Oh, and if you have anything against Christianity, don't read this. I would appreciate constructive criticism, and flames are welcome… *gulp*. I will try my hardest not to be saddened by them. J**

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_**Some say the world will end in fire, **_**_  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice._**

_**-Robert Frost**_

Chapter 1

_"...I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ._

_I was in the Spirit on the Lord's Day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet,_

_Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches which are in Asia; unto Ephesus, and unto Smyrna, and unto Pergamos, and unto Thyatira, and unto Sardis, and unto Philadelphia, and unto Laodicea..."_

Revelations 1:9-11 KJV

**Island of Patmos, Aegean Sea.**

**Around 165 AD**

A feeble, strained whimper scratched its way up the man's throat, bursting out of his swollen, numb esophagus and out into the summer heat. A tear leaked down his gaunt face and down the angry red lesions crossing his cheeks. The glaring sun, strong and oppressive by a healthy man's standards, was almost too much for the barely recognizable John. His formerly glowing skin, twinkling eyes and strong, yet fatherly, features were now reduced to that of a haggard, limp beggar. The skin, melted and scabbed by hours of harsh sun exposure, stretched taut over arthritic bones. The eyes had lost their gayety, and sunk into the sockets with a permanent expression of despair.

He lay languidly in a puddle of his own regurgitation and feces, unable to move from the evidence of his sickness. His only robe- if it could be called so- was a mere loincloth covering his groin, which left much of his small form to the native mosquitoes of the island. The annoying mosquitoes swarmed his body incessantly day after day. But now he let them come: he had no energy left to swat them away. With half-hooded eyes, his eyes flitted to and fro; curiously watching them land on his tanned calves, have their feast, and zoom off. He could no longer feel their bite; no longer feel the inevitable itch that was the precursor to crippling disease that was sure to come. Not that he would be getting up _anyway_; his body could no longer cage his life force. He was almost dead. Hearing had long abandoned him, dropping him into a senseless, underwater world. Sight was also quickly dissipating, as every motion left a blurry trail behind him, reminding him of his own failure. A useless vessel to anyone- he had no purpose left. Meaning he really felt no reason to prolong this agony. Why should he? No one was coming to rescue him from this accursed island. No one would erase the hunger and wipe away the pain. No one except his Lord, whom at the moment, seemed extremely far away.

Leaving him alone. Alone on this horrid island, alone save for the mosquitoes and the ospreys that occasionally dropped their discarded scraps of meat upon his head. This he was actually thankful for- it gave him at least some nutrients, although they rarely stopped by now that breeding season was over. So he amused himself with his thoughts on his banishment and with thoughts on his next meal. His last meal seemed hours ago, though in reality it had probably been days. The sense of time had been skewed in such great proportions; he could almost convince himself that he hadn't been here _that_ long. Not long enough to for his young daughter to grow into a young woman, not long enough for his accusations of 'coups' to die down, and not long enough for his wife to have been remarried off to some pompous Roman.

The starvation only started about two months after his lawful, yet unmoral, confinement to this place. Up until that point, food had been sufficient enough to sustain him. Then the annual drought hit, and food had to be fought over among the birds and the crabs. What little life had called this place home had long since fled to find more bountiful reservoirs, and he, with no means of escape, was left to scavenge the population of herbs. But even that withered when the full heat of summer hit, and then his will withered too- he resigned himself to his fate.

He would die here.

A useless vessel.

An empty shell of a once great, albeit infamous, man.

Then the vision came. Or, rather, maybe he was truly seeing this, or perhaps it was a 'glimpse of heaven.' Maybe he was dying now. It would be an eternal relief. Literally. But what he saw was to shocking for his malnourished brain to comprehend. Even after years of faith, years of service, this came as a complete terror. But tinged with a sense of relief: it was over. The pain. The suffering. It could end now. So he turned to face his Lord…

_"…And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;_

_And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle._

_His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire;_

_And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters._

_And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength._

_And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:_

_I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death._

_Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter…"_

Revelation 1:12-19 KJV

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**0~0~0~0~0**

**An Explanation**

Perhaps, before we venture further into this account, we need to explain a little.

After all communications tragically collapsed on that wintery day, when chaos pounced upon the world, all alliances and connections dissolved with it. Countries drew in on themselves, and people formed, once again, into the small city-states that they were meant to be. Lives were rebuilt, trading reconstructed, and the whole world brought anew.

For once, there was hope that maybe; just maybe, the human race would evolve into something better.

But nothing stays good that long.

Years passed, governments took over once more, alliances re-formed, and communications brought up again. One empire, the Leatromach, rose to higher power than the rest, their control stretching from the northern regions of the United States to the southern tip of South America, and the islands between. They were good to their people, and to the rest of the world, their trading skilled and their regulations loose. Eventually, they became one of the most powerful and loved empires in the new world. Some nations, of course, were slightly worried as to their reign, and the power they were gaining, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

The world had returned to the original paths, if slightly stunted. Wars again broke out, turmoil laid over…

Life was back to normal.

But then, the countdown began.


	2. Walking Uprightly

**Chapter 2**

_"…Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom: but a man of understanding walketh uprightly."  
Proverbs 15:20-22_

**Trinity College Library, Dublin**

**Present Time**

Soft light filtered in through the large, arching windows, setting fire to the rows of antiquities lining the shelves. Particles of dust, testament to the rather ostentatious assortment of old books, floated lazily along their predetermined paths, flitting past the visitors on a pilgrimage for knowledge. An air of peacefulness shrouded the two-story affair, stimulating the attentiveness of anyone who so wished to delve into the magnanimous reservoir of knowledge.

Among the pilgrims was a man who did not quite fit the character of the typical 'pilgrim': humble, quiet and meek he was not. He walked leisurely down the hall on the first floor, tapping a slim, pale finger to his chin, in turns scoffing at the out dated theories of 'great' scientists and smiling appreciatively at the lustrous illustrations of old. His ebony hair was meticulously styled, and his perfectly tailored suit accentuated his long legs and slim frame. There was a hint of arrogance in his aristocratic face, suggesting he knew a lot more than he would tell. Indeed, a slight smirk seemed to occupy his features at any given time, ready to launch into either a heated debate or a scholarly lecture.

This demeanor described seems to build the persona of an energetic professor, or an intelligent businessman from wealthy roots. But neither of these is true; though the latter comes much closer. This description fits none other than Artemis James Fowl II, teenage prodigy and formerly renowned criminal. His accomplishments preceded his reputation, and he was given leave to examine even the oldest of manuscripts encased in this fabulous library without fear of pilfering. Trinity College Library's extensive collection was the perfect place for the young man to find the one item he so longed to find: The Book of Kells. Not that this was just a rare, elusive book. But the versions here were much closer and less modernized, leaving more possibilities for the correct match.

He tread softly from row to row, examining book after book, his finger jumping softly from each worn binding to the next. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he excitedly pulled a rather thick volume from its resting place and balanced it in one hand as he flipped to a certain page. His heterochromatic eyes sparkled with intense interest, and a beam of morning light caught his pupils, contracting them and setting the ice blue aglow. As he traced a finger down the page, he stopped, narrowing his eyes. Pursing his lips at no one in particular, he slid the book back to its place and stepped briskly around the podium supporting the bust of a stern man. As he slid back his cuff links to check his watch, his thin eyebrows hitched up in surprise.

"Butler?" he said moderately loudly, earning him a hostile glance from the head librarian. The Eurasian man stepped stealthily from the shadows, his hulking form back-lit by the light spilling in, giving him the appearance of an evil entity.

"Yes, Artemis?"

He tapped his wrist watch. "We must hurry if we are to intercept our guest. The manuscript may wait. For now."

Butler gave a confused frown, but did not ask any questions. His young master, after all, would tell him when he wanted to. The crowds lining the aisles, here to see the _original_ Book of Kells, gave Butler quite a scare as to the business. As the Irish teenager strode out of the magnificent building, Butler scanned the road ways, eying each elderly man and each child with the same analytical eye. After deciding there was no obvious immediate threat, Butler breathed a little easier and strove to enjoy the fresh spring air Ireland was so famous for. They rounded the corner of the sidewalk and the bustling downtown of Dublin hit them with the intricately- designed porch railings on town houses, brightly-colored umbrellas and fragrant pipe smoke. People of all kinds strayed in through here to see the famous land of the leprechauns and shamrocks, beer and harps. Tourists strutted by in large groups, sporting cameras and cheap souvenirs, laughing amiably about some nonsense. Fishermen from Dublin's port lugged in trucks of fish and obliged the tourists with far-fetched tales, finely carved meerschaum pipes that cost half a year's payment dangling from their pencil-thin mouths. Colorful potted plants hung from windows of equally colorful houses, and mosaics of umbrellas, now closed to invite the sun, swung from the fingers of native Irish.

Artemis side-stepped a puddle and the cringed when a droplet of water from a nearby potted tree dripped down between his shoulder blades. The incessant rain clouds had finally cleared, but left unpredictable annoyances in its wake. It was nice to be out and about, though, considering how long he had been kept secluded to regain his missing memories. He would still find himself trying to connect small things together, but these instances were few and far between. The feeling of freedom was strong, and it showed, too, in his elation in simple joys: playing with his brothers, taking walks through the Fowl Gardens, and conversing with this parents. It was all taken for granted before, but now he appreciated every moment. Except for the conversations on his criminal activities.

He had promised to drop them. And he _had_, in a way. Surely being a modern-day Robin Hood didn't count, could it? The only semblance to crime at the moment in his life was purloining missing masterpieces of artwork from aristocratic crime lords. He had returned many paintings so far. Next, he was attempting to pilfer- or, rather, _rescue_, as he preferred to call it- a painting by Willem Van de Velde the Younger called "Harbor Scene," a masterpiece that had been declared missing Christmas Eve in 1978 from a museum in New York City. No one had been able to track the path of the painting, an apparently _impossible_ feat. So, of course, Artemis had tracked it down and found its current owner- Sir Brennan Blackwell Jr., a banker and head of a criminal enterprise. Artemis had had many dealing with this man in the past. Blackwell was an utterly disgusting pig of a man, wit fat jowls and a rotund middle. Though his appearance was misleading- he was an unscrupulous man with seemingly endless resources. Many dealings in his past were tainted with worry- _worry_- over this man and what he could accomplish. But he had eventually been betrayed to another enterprise, and he was now most likely being blackmailed into his quiet, innocuous presence of today. It gave Artemis great pleasure to steal from this man, and it sent a tingling, euphoric sensation up his spine.

Butler tapped a thick finger on the young man's shoulder. "Sir, do you have the polish?"

Artemis turned and shot him a smirk. "Yes, oh worrier. Do you have the…ahem… _distraction_?"

Butler gave a tight, excited smile. "But of course. It would not be as much fun without."

"Absolutely correct, old friend. All traces of ourselves have also been erased from the cameras, by the way. No need to check."

Butler came as close to a pout as Artemis had ever seen the man, his thick bottom lip jutting out in a petulant frown. His incessant, almost paranoid habit of checking the angle of various security cameras often grated on Artemis's nerves, as it served as a reminder of what they _used_ to be: top-notch, nefarious and mephistophelean people. Immersing himself in more… honorable acts would help him stay reformed. But how could he if they continued to act as if they were on the run from the Garda? Ireland was known for its restorative powers of the mind: anyone could start over here. Anyone could relive here. But underneath all the sweetness, if one knew where to look, you would know that this, this place, was the power house of the criminal lords of Ireland. Said criminal lords were actually, unbeknownst to them, quite predictable in their patterns. For instance, Artemis knew that at this moment, Blackwell was attending a Victorian Antiques auction in Limerick.

Ah well. So much for acting the part of a reformed citizen…

Artemis stepped towards an alleyway, Butler close beside him with a hand cautiously over his concealed carry. The genius did an abrupt about face, looking his employee in the eye.

"You understand what to do, correct?"

The giant man nodded, the placed a hand on Artemis's shoulder. He looked as if he were beginning to say something, then changed his mind as he finished with "Be safe, Artemis."

Artemis gave him a curious look, and then shrugged a rather care free motion for the boy. He pulled a small, circular bottle out of his back, swilling the liquid and eyeing it carefully. Then, with precise, measured steps, he followed the cobblestones down between the brick buildings and disappeared. Butler, after casting one last worrying glance towards his pupil and an apologetic one towards the occupants of the road, uncapped another bottle and poured its noxious contents into the rushing stream of run-off water flowing down the side of the road. After watching the colorful gasoline get splashed across the road by bikers, pedestrians, and carts, he flicked open a lighter and touched it to the pavement. After a few seconds of sputtering and a second try, the gasoline caught, lighting and flaming its way up the road, floating atop the water. It caught onto anything that stood in its path: people, cats, carts, etc. The small amount quickly burned out, but lasted long enough to cause due panic and turmoil. Butler slipped calmly into the alleyway once more and walked in a circular route, clinging close to the edges of the parking lot he had ventured on. The next part of the plan would be slightly more difficult, involving a more sleight of hand than the last and a little luck.

While Butler made his fabulous show, Artemis had slipped quietly to the back of the alleys, stopping by a small, dilapidated door framed by the brick steps, and unscrewing the cap of the dwarf rock polish he had snuck from the LEP shuttles he so frequently traveled. After pouring out all the contents in a generous coating on the old lock, he heard it crinkle and watched in fascination as black veins spidered upwards, crumbling it. He pushed the door open with his foot, gagging on the stale, putrid scent wafting through the room. Apparently no one had used this building in quite some time, regardless it being a favored hide out of Blackwell. The floor was cracked and caked in mud, and the paisley wall paper coating the walls had a bubbled appearance. This hardly seemed the place to store a rare painting, but neither did Blackwell seem to be the man to indulge in aesthetic beauty. As Artemis tip-toed quietly inwards, he noticed the large, incongruous, heavily- constructed safe clinging to the back wall. The young genius considered, for a moment, how absurdly easy this was, and wondered if there were the possibility of a trap. But he quickly dismissed the absurd thought, remembering that Blackwell was never corrected on the fact that Artemis had supposedly 'died' in his three year- absence. Therefore, he was not expecting him.

As he stepped around used syringes and beer bottles, his excitement grew. The painting was almost in his grasp; all he had to do was open the safe now. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the supposed 'game console,' which he had not used since Munich. Disassembling and reassembling into the x-ray device, he quickly scanned the safe. A devious smile lit his face as the negative image of a paper tube appeared. Then, sliding the device back into his pocket, he bent to study the key pad attentively, and then pulled out a container of dusting powder. The small brush was of the finest camel hair, ideal for fingerprinting crime scenes, and the handle was only two inches in length, forcing Artemis to pinch it between his forefinger and thumb. Meticulously, he brushed the silver powder onto the small squares, and then capped the cylinder again. He examined it carefully, and pulled out a small, compact digital camera. Kneeling down in the dirt and holding the camera at a specific angle, he snapped a picture. As the fascinated teenager was blinking to clear the spots from his vision, he pulled the picture back up and went back to examining it with the closest scrutiny.

The science behind this was, in fact, quite simple for a mind of his caliber. Dusting the fingerprints would obviously reveal their location. Holding the camera at a certain degree when taking a picture- with the flash on, of course- would yield evidence of the exact order to type in: lightest being first and darkest last. The reason the lightest was first was also rather simple. When fingerprints are left, amino acids and proteins are what leave the imprint. Then when these proteins and acids start breaking down, it starts to disappear. Therefore, the lightest were typed first and the darkest last.

As soon as he had found the combination code- 13973- he speedily typed it in. There was a barely audible _click_, and the safe popped open with a gentle snap. The euphoria once again zipped up his spine, and with deft fingers he slid out the parchment tube, and then reset the lock. Quickly rushing towards the doorway, he replaced the door latch with a properly weathered replica and snaked out of the alley way. He turned in a full circle, searching the shifting shadows for a sign of his faithful bodyguard.

A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, and Artemis stifled a blood-curdling yell as he felt Butler's urgent whisper in his ear.

"Get down _now_. Blackwell's metal man is crossing the road to our left."

Artemis ducked behind a moldy dumpster, his nose wrinkling at the mildew clambering up the brick walls behind him, soiling his immaculate suit. Butler hunched down beside him, his hulking form barely concealed by the trash bin. Only the overflowing of litter hid his shiny, bald head. Rewarding Artemis with a reproaching look obviously saying '_so why didn't you predict this, you genius?_' he pulled a Sig Sauer from his hip and kept it also concealed, but pulled to the ready nevertheless. Artemis himself pursed his lips in annoyance. Tsu, Blackwell's best 'metal men', was supposed to be later than this. How had he traveled here so fast?

Tsu crossed lethargically across the street, avoiding panicked passersby who scrambled past the remaining flames, and he sporting an insolent expression. His short, cropped black hair framed a stern Asian features, these atop a muscular body akin to a caged tiger. In no way did he compare to Butler's own strength, but he held some sort of ethereal grace to him. This was, without a doubt, a man they had to keep in close inspection. Tsu stepped lightly onto the sidewalk and scanned both ways with an analytical eye. His hazel gaze probed the darkness of the back alley ways, coming to rest on their position. With a smirk, he did an about face and marched off. Then he slid into a nondescript Toyota and drove off, the darkly tinted windows not hiding his piercing gaze.

Artemis nodded and waggled the parchment tube slightly, letting Butler know he had gotten it. The man nodded and held up a burn phone, a rather old iphone model, to show that he had accomplished his other half: attaching a tracker to the bottom of Tsu's vehicle. A ghost of his old, vampire, conniving smile flitted across his features and he took the outstretched phone, sliding it into his pocket. They trotted up the road again, avoiding the last of the flickering flames and darting people, eventually making it to the Bentley. After Butler's precursory bomb check, Artemis slid into the leather seats- faux leather, of course- and reverently laid the parchment beside him.

Butler's eyes darted in the rear-view mirror to glance at his pupil. The genius's own eyes were riveted to the screen of the small phone as he watched the tracking dot move erratically towards Limerick. The white light illuminated his pale features in a ghastly way, his smirk even more prominent.

All according to plan.

_"…This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come."_

2 Timothy 3:1


	3. Seduction's Bite

_ "…The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one;_

_ The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels._

_As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world._

_ The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity;_

_Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear."_

Matthew 13:38-42 KJV

**Anaheim, California**

**One day Earlier, 3:33 A.M**

A dry, raspy chuckle elicited from the man's throat as he leaned in and placed a leery kiss on Marcy's neck. She swallowed her disgust and faked pleasure, moaning slightly and running a hand down his jaw. His hand was slowly falling, falling further down, falling down past her hip…

She quickly stood, casually breaking contact with the atrocious man, and tilted his chin up with a delicate hand. His intoxicated, alcohol- fuzzed mind betrayed itself in his blood shot eyes, dazed expression and slurred words. But underneath was a calm perceptiveness and an obvious evil that no woman would want to come near. He had charismatic features, with a perfect nose, a strong jaw and enthralling brown eyes. His shock of jet black hair hung in a slovenly way down into his eyes. This seemed to be any other businessman on a break, but Marcy knew better.

Jerry Balewin, a man of thirty seven years, had been the most atrocious of men. Head of the local division of the Crips- a well-known gang- and an outstanding man of society. One might wonder how someone could be both. For sure, on the outside he seemed to be a prestigious gentleman: doctorate degree in business, manager of an international security company, and a father of three. But underneath this well kept disguise is a man who would be mentioned in the same sentence as Semion Mogilevich, Al Capone, or Ted Bundy. An evil transgressor to say the least. A man with no qualms over anything: pilfering, raping, murdering… You name it. He did it all with a smile.

"Come outside with me, babe?" she purred salaciously, her gray eyes smoldering.

His eyes lit up, and he slid from the tall bar stool with a lethargic attitude, stepping to the polished floor. His suit was incongruous considering the setting and the bawdy outfit of his companion. His tailored, finely set collar down to his Armani shoes spoke of prestige and wealth, but the woman beside him spoke of a long career in flirting, drinking, and seducing. Her cropped, tight white tank top exposed her flat stomach and absurdly short jean shorts accentuated long, tanned legs and flip flops. Both made a rather odd couple, but then again, Marcy was never known to be normal.

Marcy skirted a tipsy man and a bar tender, and then stepped lightly around the floor lamp. The room actually would be rather comforting, if it wasn't for the rowdy people inhabiting it. The whole structure consisted of paneled cherry wood, with crimson trim lining the edges. Soft light flowed upward from the scone lights and the candles set on the tables. But among all these sweet accommodations was the epitome of leery men and free women. This was not a place an upstanding citizen should go- indeed, this was a place for only the vilest of humans. They would never learn, would they? They always thought they had made some enormous improvement in society; some great achievement that would forever turn mankind around. But it all stayed the same. Another generation would rise and take up the burden of sin that the previous one dropped on its meager shoulders. Then the generation's shoulders would fill to carry the burden, and pass it to the next. A never ending cycle of sin.

She felt Jerry's presence behind her as soon as she had stepped into the parking lot. As she continued walking, she felt his patience growing smaller. But a smirk adorned her features at the thought of irritating him. He always got what he wanted when he wanted it: let him wait for a change.

Marcy rounded the corner of the building and strode into the alley, his footfalls echoing loudly. Once she was sure they were out of the lime light, she turned. His smile grew to leery proportions as she stalked up to him and ran a hand down his chest. His hand lifted as if to grab her, where, though, would never be known. For as soon as his guard dropped, so did he. Marcy's knife protruded from the back of his head. The forty-five degree angle of the knife, under the external acoustic meatus, or the back edge of the skull, had cleanly sliced the brain stem and properly destroyed the cerebellum portion of his brain.

Analysis: Instant death.

She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away from the man, laying him down against the edge of moldy dumpster. He slumped downwards. Quickly and quietly, she slipped away from him and pried the lid of the dumpster open, revealing a surprisingly clean package her comrade had put there. A Yankees hoodie, sweatpants, converse, hair dye, colored contacts, and a package of handy wipes. All in a neat little box. She stood in the shadows and stripped down, running the handy wipes up and down her body. Then she left the clothing she so hated beside Jerry, and slid the new onto her.

Rule number one on for criminals: leave as little evidence as possible. So Marcy did just the opposite. Form her clothing there could be hair samples, fiber matches, DNA smears, lipstick stains, soil traces, and much more. Leaving the handy wipes would leave even more traces of her DNA, and leads as to where she has been. But for her, it was no problem. They could hardly get DNA samples form a person who had none. They could hardly get soil traces if there were no matches in the whole world. And fingerprints?

She had none.

At last, her final touch. A tafl game piece, the red stone carved in grotesque features, was placed in Jerry's outstretched hand. The police would recognize it if any of them watched any international news, or read any unsolved murder cases spanning from over two hundred years ago.

The 'red rover' murderer- as they dubbed her for the mostly unrecognized red game pieces- was back.

With a vengeance.

A moment later, if one could see into the dense shadows, they would see a rather startling sight: a young, very attractive young woman, with _wings_ unfurling from her back. Long, silvery wings that stretched high into the night, and carried her also into the night. Within seconds she would appear as a distant star, just breaching the horizon.


	4. The First Trumpet

_"Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,_

_In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed._

_For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality."_

1Corinthians 15:51-53 KJV

** Highway** **M7**

**Near the town of Mountrath**

**Present Time**

Butler never could stand traffic. One, it was a security issue, and two, it was just plain bothersome. So, at the moment, he was justifiably irritated.

It seemed to be M7's normal traffic, with smelly exhaust and loads of honking horns. But to a well-trained eye, one could see that the pattern of traffic deviated from the normal flow. Cars jerked faster, people were more frantic. And considering that it was _normally_ frantic, _this_ would be considered insanity.

Artemis scowled as Butler once again had to swerve to avoid a teen driver. Said teen driver was balancing a cell phone in one hand and an iPod in her lap, plugging one ear bud in and steering with her knees. She leaned out the window and gave the Bentley the middle finger, then resumed texting. Butler rolled his eyes and glanced in the mirror at Artemis.

"Sorry. Traffic is insane."

Artemis gave a wan smile and waved a hand. "No problem."

That, if anyone were to remember that trivial statement, would be considered the worst misnomer of the century. For at that moment, chaos ensued. Some might have blamed it on his karma, some on his inevitable pull on trouble, but the fact still remained- Artemis James Fowl II should never be allowed to say anything along the lines 'no problem.'

The Ford truck ahead of them suddenly veered off the road, tumbling into the grassy slope beside the road. Cars swerved, veered and parted ahead of them like water. The cacophony of sound was of screeching metal, screams and cashing, preceding the smell of burnt tires and fire. Butler tried his best to maneuver out of the way, but was cut off by an eighteen-wheeler overturning in front of them, and a small convertible flipping beside them. They came to a sudden stop, with Butler's head slamming into the steering wheel ahead of him, and a muffled thump from Artemis. They sat in stunned silence for a moment, cars speeding past them, turning sideways and flipping, screams piercing the sound of metal on metal, and smoke filtering in.

A breathy voice sounded behind the silent bodyguard. "Butl-Butler…behind us…"

His training kicked in and he spun around, seeing Artemis clambering quickly into the passenger seat. Butler stretched to look past his young charge, and his eye widened in shock as he saw the swerving, flipping, turning form of _another_ eighteen wheeler, rolling towards them at an alarming rate.

"Go!" shouted Butler, kicking out the passenger door and moved to push Artemis out…

Just as the eighteen wheeler hit them.

A terrifying slowness filled their vision; everything moving at a rate as if under water. Butler's eye's filled with regret. The back end of the Bentley caved in, pushing towards them. The parchment was destroyed as a chunk of metal rammed through it. The leather upholstery flew forward and exposed the face of a plainly dead driver in the massive truck.

Then it caught up to them. Artemis was flung forward through the windshield from his prone position, and landed on the smashed hood with a dull thud from his chin. A twisted and of the hood sliced open his chest as he landed, driving the corner into his sternum. Butler felt the firm push of the seats thrust him into the dashboard, and the painful snap of his ribcage. His vision swam as he fought valiantly to stay awake, but the roof of the Bentley fell in on his head, and he promptly blacked out with one last scream. A sharp piece of shrapnel pierced Artemis's thigh, driving all the way through and gluing him to the car. He screamed the loudest he ever had in his life, writhing in a frantic, insane attempt to loose himself. But it only served to drive it in further, and he lay forward as he felt the warm tinge of blood seep down his leg, chest and forehead. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils, and the sharp taste of blood stung his throat. His last thought before blacking out was one for his bodyguard, and a curse on his karma.

**~O~o~O~o~O~**

**Spud's Spud Emporium**

**Haven City**

**Twenty Minutes Later**

_"For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:_

_ Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord."_

1 Thessalonians 4:16-17

Colly Bog grasped the edge of the champagne glass with surprisingly nimble fingers and a disgusted look, swiftly moving it from the serving table to his tray. The tray was clearly marked 'Dishes to be Washed', but this was _not_ Colly's job. At least, he didn't think it should be. Honestly, he thought he was charming enough to work on the runway for a male modeling company. But, alas, the pixie secretary promptly kicked him out even before auditions. Apparently dwarf gas was not appreciated in her office.

As he balanced four more glasses on his tray and a pizza plate, he glanced around apprehensively. It was so _quiet_. Well, it was the heat of summer, and business was generally slow at that time of year. But this was _unnaturally_ quiet. Usually he had at least the drunken cries of gnomes and dwarves singing- or rather, belching- out the Spud song, but there were no customers at the moment, and it was still too early in the day to drink. His pudgy eyes roved down the metallic chairs and stained white-tiled floors, the red-striped counter and the greasy stoves. Afternoon light spilled in through the large, slightly dusty windows. Everything was in order, but it still felt _creepy_.

He strode over to the sink in the back, pushing the heavy door with his foot and unceremoniously dumping the dishes into the sink. Ignoring the rather worrying crash resounding through the empty building, Colly sought out the old radio that was stashed in the back, and turned the dial to find the broadcasts still in existence. After all, there were not many Mud Men stations that penetrated the soil. A sputtering, barely understandable garble of music came through. He identified it as one of the many country music stations, and eventually the sultry voice of Carrie Underwood would be okay, although it was no pixie hard rock.

He listened to that same station for a good, solid two hours until he had noticed a subtle change. The same twenty songs were playing on a loop. Over and over: Carrie Underwood, Garth Brooks, Alan Jackson, Charlie Daniels, Shania Twain, Patsy Cline, Faith Hill, etc. etc. Was there no DJ? He scowled pensively and gave the radio his most fearsome glare, although that didn't seem to accomplish much. Eventually he just gave an irritated puff of air and was just about to switch the channel when a continuous beep blasted through. His eyebrows puckered as he recognized the sound: Mud Man emergency broadcast. A computer generated, fuzzy voice that was much less enticing than Carrie Underwood burst through the connection.

"This is Irish Emergency Broadcasting System, reporting the declaration of a national state of emergency as of 2:24 pm on April 27. The State of Emergency had not been given an end time. Please remain indoors-"

Colly switched stations, a puzzled frown on his gruff face. After flipping through multiple stations of white noise, he finally hit one that came in surprisingly clearly.

"RTÉ reporting live from Dublin, where reports have been flooding in of an odd phenomena. Indeed, all over the world there is a state of panic, as people mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Literally nothing: many people report finding their clothing left behind and their loved ones gone. Authorities have yet to count the number of disappearances, but they estimate over 34,000 people have disappeared. Global panic increases as many wonder if there will be a second wave of disappearances. Explanations have ranged from extraterrestrials to the Christian rapture. As we investigate this, we will report with further developments…"

Colly's usually passive features now betrayed his inner worry as he tapped on the edge of the table. What happened up there? Did the LEP know? Could it happen to _them_?

At this terrifying thought, he flung the door of the restaurant wide and stepped into the bright light, almost getting clothes-lined by an arm.

"_Oomph_…" he muttered, as his nose was pushed by a lithe forearm. Colly's eyes followed up the delicately tough shoulder and neck, clad in LEP green, to a heart-stoppingly beautiful face. Though that beautiful face, apparently, did not like to be ogled at.

"Excuse me. Miss the memo? All fairies are to remain inside their present buildings. And stop staring. I don't like leering guys."

His dreamy mood dissipated as he remembered where he heard that low, sultry yet fierce voice: On Haven PPT news broadcast covering the capture of Opal Koboi. This was Recon officer Holly Short… the crazy-girly captain, as she was known in the dwarf rings. Said Officer dropped her pointing finger and stood defiantly in front of his path, arms akimbo. He gulped.

"Sorry, ma'am. I did miss the memo. Err… well, bye now. Sorry to trouble you."

But while he had one foot in the door, he turned around tentatively and tapped her shoulder. She spun to face him, dropping her pointing finger.

"What?"

He wrung his hands slightly nervously. "Have you… heard any news as to what the heck is going on with the Mud Men?"

The sharp mis-matched gained an even sterner look, if that was possible.

"I…don't know yet, sir. Get back inside."

The last sentence was said much more quietly and sadly. He gave a slightly inquisitive look, but then slid back into the building before she could gather her cloak of bitterness again.

Though, he did wonder what she would have to be sad about if it had anything to do with Mud Men.

* * *

**Yay! I have reviews! To answer anyone's questions, (since I am apparently not supposed to respond to each review directly) **

**1 This will, in all hopes, be an A/H fic. It will not be the main focus, as the religion is end-of-the-world thing will be… (I mean, really, how would you write an apocalypse story while focusing on something else?)**

**2 Marcy (winged lady) will be… a, nevah mind. No spoilers. ****:)**

**3 No, I don't have a beta. That would be cool, but I am to new on this site to really go searching. I just edit, edit, and edit… CONTINUOUSLY. ****:) **


	5. Save from the Lions

**_' _**_Lord, how long wilt thou look on? Rescue my soul from their destructions, my darling from the lions.'_  
Psalm 35:16-18

**LEP headquarters, Cubicle wing, Haven City **

**Office of Holly Short.**

**Ten Minutes Earlier**

Paperwork.

Nothing besides the paperwork.

Nothing else exists.

Paperwork.

Nothing besides-

_ Beep._

Besides-

_Beep._

_Besides_-

_Beep._

Holly Short sighed in frustration. For many reasons besides Foaly's incessant testing of the emergency system, Troubles recent swooning, (yes, _swooning_.) and her fluorescent-lighting-caused headaches. No, there were other reasons. One being her sudden use of meditation. Her will power must _really_ be depleting; how did she let Qwan convince her to _meditate_?

Seriously. She needed a break. Or something to do other than D'arvitin' _paperwork_.

Deciding enough was enough, she opened her eyes to the harsh, cruel world of paperwork and _life_.

But what met her eyes was not the tell-tale test alert on her computer, nor a mushy love note tacked to her bulletin board... But rather a call on her LEP communicator from…

She fumbled from her reclining position, her heavily booted feet falling to the floor with a loud thump, and pulled the communicator from its place under all the paper, hooking it up to her holo-projector.

"Commander, sir. Sorry."

Trouble Kelp scowled, making his premature gray stand out. "Three rings, Short. You are getting slower."

She nodded. "Sorry. You needed me?"

"Yes. Though maybe it's a bad time. You appeared to be," _ahem,_" sleeping."

Holly scowled. "I was _not _sleeping. I was merely meditating. Something Qwan recommended."

Trouble huffed, but then seemingly composed himself, gaining an official gleam in his eyes. "Anyways, Short. There is a situation above ground. No one has any idea what, but thousands upon thousands of people have gone missing; disappearing into thin air- "

He paused, noticing his Major's mouth agape.

"Holly? Close yo mouth, girl…"

She jumped up so fast her chair toppled and rolled a few feet. "A… a situation? How many people? Who's missing? Is… is…"

Trouble shrugged sadly. "Artemis and Butler? I don't know. Foaly tried to track them down but only got as far as M7, Portlaoise-area when he lost them. They are probably in that huge wreckage up there on M7."

Holly sputtered in anger. "What, and we're just going to leave them there? Not a chance! We need to-"

She cut off abruptly as his whole statement caught up with her.

"Wait. You mean to say that _thousands of humans have disappeared_? Just like that?"

Trouble nodded, his violet eyes downcast. But then they sharpened in fierce determination. "We don't know whether this can happen to the People. We need to spread our forces out, shut down terminals, and limit traffic to the bare minimum. We don't know what this is, or who it will strike next. Or if it will… Don't know. "

Holly nodded and righted her chair. A facade of calm stole over her features, one that commonly occupied her face during a dangerous mission. The commander recognized it and winced, knowing that a barrage of emotions would probably come _after_ the mission, granting him a cranky officer for the following two weeks.

But she glanced up from her desk, her expression one of the utmost concentration. "When can I go find Artemis?"

Trouble sighed. "We're not. We have to help everyone down here."

An irate gleam sparked in her eye, and she gave him a dangerously quiet reply. "Oh really? We are _not _going to go help Artemis?"

He gulped. "No."

She nodded stiffly and strode out of her office, leaving Trouble to listen to her receding footsteps, wondering what was coming at him. Holly Short, complying willingly? It would not last.

Within moments she was patrolling the streets, warning citizens and deftly wielding her Neutrino. Hardly anyone was out, though. The LEP had issued an official state of emergency, completely shoving Haven into silence. Rarely had Haven ever been given the 'state of emergency' title, but when they were, it was serious. People took it to heart and shut all windows, closed all stores, and shut down all activity. This caused an eerie silence to descend on the town, making anyone who _wasn't_ afraid start looking over their shoulder.

Holly paused on the porch of Spud's Spud Emporium, glancing to and fro at scurrying LEP recruits, who had been dragged from training to help with the chaos. She sighed sadly, watching their loose formation and their facade- or failure of a facade- of sternness. One, who was obviously the youngest, was barely controlling his blubbering. The others glanced nervously about them, as if expecting a Mud Man to jump out and make them go poof. Holly was not far from their nervousness, but hid it much more tactfully. Although her worry was not the same as hers: her emotion lied with a mud boy thousands of feet above her.

She shook her head irritably. She needed to stop thinking of him _singularly_. She was worried about the _Fowls_. Not just Artemis… the _Fowls_.

An officer started to wander off towards the shuttles. She shouted at him, pointing and gesticulating towards his group. He nodded and hurriedly ran towards his group, glancing furtively at the manic-eyed, frantically-waving Major. As she glared at him for extra measure, she felt something thump into her arm. Upon turning, she found a dwarf, his beady eyes wide with awe as he took in her curvaceous figure.

"Excuse me. Miss the memo? All fairies are to remain inside their present buildings. And stop staring. I don't like leering guys." She snapped, eyes blazing. Honestly, what was with guys?

His eyes seemed to clear, and a look of recognition flashed through his brown pupils before it was replaced with fear.

"Sorry, ma'am. I did miss the memo. Err… well, bye now. Sorry to trouble you."

He turned back and was halfway into the grimy place before he hesitantly turned again. She almost groaned when he tapped her softly, as if almost caressing her.

"What?"

He wrung his hands slightly nervously. "Have you… heard any news as to what the heck is going on with the Mud Men?"

For a moment, she thought again of Artemis. Why wasn't she chasing down the next shuttle to find him? She should be there now.

"I…don't know yet, sir. Get back inside."

She turned back to the road, devising a plan to sneak to the surface. She had intentionally slipped a degree of sadness into her last sentence, earning her a pitying glance and a compliant dwarf.

_Gods_, she thought. _I'm getting as devious as Artemis._

With this last reminder, she took off sprinting towards Ops Booth, determined to board the next shuttle. This could surely happen for an elf who could deftly pull some strings.

**~O~o~O~o~O~**

As Holly skimmed over Portlaoise, Ireland, she marveled at the stifling silence enshrouding everything. Obviously people were loath to leave their immediate locations, preferring to hunker down and stay silent. Whatever had happened, it was enough to shut down cities. That took a lot.

Her first objective had been to scour Portlaoise's cameras for any sign of the Fowl vehicle. After successfully, though slowly, finding a blur resembling the Bentley from a camera overlooking M7, she started tracing her way through the wreckage. Tears threatened to spill over as her instinctive empathy for lives, no matter what species, kicked in. The smell of burnt flesh hovered over the area, and the lack of a breeze and the afternoon heat bouncing from the pavement ensured that it would stay. The whole road resembled an abstract artist's dream. Colors, shapes and shadows littered the ribbon of a road: the colors of different cars and blood seeping into the asphalt, the odd shapes of twisted cars and overturned trucks. Some indistinct moans rippled through the still silence, and a matching sob of sadness came from Holly. Whatever had caused this was an unforgiving, unfeeling force.

She flew on resolutely, barely able to ignore the bodies strewn across the pavement and the shrieks of those still clinging to life. If she stopped to save every person who could be saved, she would be out of magic before she traveled a mile.

And Artemis needed to be saved.

…Correction. The _Fowls_ and _Butler_ needed to be saved.

She flitted on and on, every once in a while stooping over a somewhat- Bentley- like vehicle, and when realizing it was not a Bentley, would zoom off to the next one. Each black, malformed car after another dropped her hopes ten bars at a time. On and on she went, searching through the wreckage for what seemed like hours. Strangely, though, no emergency services came. Either, she assumed, they could not get through, or there were no spare workers or vehicles. Probably both were the case.

As she neared the exit for R430, her heart jumped to her throat. There, sandwiched between an eighteen wheeler and a small red pick-up truck, was a black form of a car. And, sticking out the driver's window, a shiny, bald head. She doubled her speed, going so fast she rapped her hip on the protruding edge of a door. As she alighted atop the hood of the eighteen wheeler, her heart sank to her toes.

The Bentley resembled a crushed can, which had been carelessly folded in half and stepped on. With the bumper caved inwards, and the backseats extending out of the windshield, it gave little hope that anyone had survived. Holly choked back a sob and let the inevitable, professional calmness steal over her as she dived towards the driver's door, and prepared herself for the carnage.

Surprisingly, Butler was not dead. He was squeezed between the dashboard and the seats piled behind him, and his large upper body looked as if it were being pushed upwards. His head, which was resting heavily on the bridge of the steering wheel, was dripping blood. By the copious amounts of dried blood coating the left side of his face, it was obvious his injury was severe, but would not cause him to bleed out. Holly, after taking off her helmet, methodically pulled out her Omni-tool, and flipped it in her hand, bashing in the remaining door and peeling it away. Butler did not slump as she had expected, rooted as firmly in as he was. So she unholstered her Neutrino, setting it to a medium setting and aiming it carefully at the dashboard. After only a moment of exposure to the elementary subatomic particles, the restraint melted into itself and released the monstrous man, who _then_ slumped onto Holly. As his biceps flopped onto her torso, her breath left in a whoosh, and she lowered him to the ground precariously. He fell limply onto the only spare spot of asphalt, causing the fairy to hover above him as she applied her healing magic. He jerked and bucked like a mule as the blue cocoon surrounded him, and multiple times she had to dodge a fist for fear of injury. His collar bone melted and reappeared, his leg untwisted, his arm righted itself, and his forehead seemed to pull in on itself before forming into the usual spotless dome. Eventually he calmed down, settling into a peaceful sleep.

As she sat back and sighed in relief, she suddenly jerked upwards.

_Artemis!_

_\_She scrambled onto the roof of the vehicle, head swinging frantically as she searched, ducking her head in a hole to scan the backseat, climbing behind the car and checking the road, and then finally alighting on the hood.

And almost puked.

There Artemis lay, surrounded by a halo of maroon blood, his raven hair coated and his suit ruined. His eyes were closed, and his breaths came out short, irregular and raspy. His forehead was coated in a myriad of reds, each dripping lazily down his jaw and onto the hood in front of him. The metal spike thrust through each thigh and into the frame of the windshield gleamed faintly and cast small circles of light onto the boy's back. This highlighted the right arm, which was bent backwards painfully at the elbow and pushing the joint through the skin.

Holly clamped a hand to her mouth, her dual toned eyes wide with horror. She slid down beside him, releasing his arm from its position and cradling his concussed head. Tears mingled with blood as she leaned forward and pried the end of the spike from the windshield, eliciting an unconscious moan from Artemis's cracked lips. After freeing his legs from the car, she flipped him over and inspected his wounds with gentle, yet shaking hands. He whimpered faintly as the spike rustled slightly.

An outright sob burst from Holly as she held her dearest friend in her lap, her slender fingers brushing each cut with a small jolt of magic. She healed, with jumpy, fading blue sparks, small cuts, broken ribs, and his concussed forehead. As her fingers strayed further downwards, she noticed the perfect red line on his sternum. Her dutiful fingers gently unbuttoned his shirt and slid a cool hand underneath, feeling the deep slash that marred his perfect skin. Blue lit up the area, and then a small line of raised skin snaked up where the injury had been.

All this rejuvenation of his body seemed to have the affect of waking the poor boy, and his eyes fluttered open with a pained hiss. His glance immediately slid down to his legs, and a startled gasp came from his parted lips. He looked up at Holly.

"I…firmly believe …" he said, in a breathy, pained voice, "that…we should _really_…stop meeting this way."

Holly chuckled, wiping the heel of her hand across her wet cheeks, then swiping the raven locks out of Artemis's eyes, which were firmly locked with hers.

"_Yes_, Artemis. You _must _stop doing this to me. I don't know how much more I can stand."

A teasing gleam overtook his expression. "And you …can't do without me, so…"

"Oh really?"

He smiled innocently, then reached imploring fingers out to his thighs.

"I…don't suppose… you could heal this?"

She gazed at it firmly, then turned to him.

"I...can. But it will hurt. I can't heal it with the rod_ in_ it."

He nodded as if it was expected, but she saw the tightening of his jaw.

"Here, grip hard. And scream; we don't want you to bite your tongue off. It _will _hurt, and it will do more damage. But nothing I can't heal."

He nodded solemnly, and did exactly as she said. Pale, white-knuckled grip met with bloodied, coffee-colored hands in a tight hold that spoke of years of trust. She repositioned herself to his side, pressing the elbow of her right arm- the arm Artemis gripped- on his shoulders, and the other grabbed her re-holstered Neutrino. His eyes widened in apprehension.

"Can you spread your legs an inch?"

He bit his lip, and with a barely suppressed scream, slid his legs over a millimeter. He stopped there, unable to go further. Sweat already dotted his forehead in a sickly pallor, and he glanced at the shard with hazed eyes. The shard would not be easy to extract: one edge was rather uneven, rising and falling and warping. The other edge, the one facing upwards, may as well have been made by a master knife- craftsman, with how well it was serrated.

Holly took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This would be…difficult.

She put the tip of the barrel to the slightly exposed sliver of metal between his thighs and set the power settings on low, and the circumference of the shot on minimum. Artemis's hand gripped convulsively in hers, and she pulled the trigger.

A sharp pop, followed by a suppressed shriek, and Artemis opened his tightly shut eyes to reveal the spike divided in two.

"Alright, Artemis. What I think you-"

And with that, she yanked the slices out, her hand moving so fast that the Irish boy's mind didn't even have time to process it. The right shard caught on a muscle on the last inch, just as the pain registered in Artemis. His grip on her hand tightened so quickly and so forcefully that Holly was sure something snapped. His scream came out raw and hoarse, encompassing every bit of pain he was experiencing. It was the loudest, most agony-filled sound she had ever heard in her lifetime, seeming to surpass even the most primal shriek of any animal.

As she pulled out the last inch, bile built in her throat as she pulled a fleshy, pink, veined chunk of muscle out with it. It fell with a loud, wet slap onto the hood and Artemis continued shrieking, doubling over and shoving frantic hands against his thighs. Blood flowed out, creeping up the threads of his suit and growing like a flower on his dress shirt. She pushed him hard on the chest to knock him down and heal him. This was not usually a hard task, as Artemis was _obviously_ not a physically fit person. But with aldreline coursing through his system and pain pushing him to the point of insanity, her riled against her and slid precariously farther off the hood. She lunged for him, and as she tugged him upwards, his strength gave out. He collapsed in her arms.

Holly repositioned him with his head against her chest and his back resting in her lap. She smoothed his hair out of his face and let that hand cradle his jaw in a firm grip to prevent neck injury. Her imploring fingers reached downwards, pressing against the edge of the injury lightly. After he gasped loudly, she looked back at his eyes. They were lucid now, and he nodded her on slightly. She nodded back as she pressed her fingers deeper and sent sparks coursing through him. His body jerked and arched, his teeth chattering and spine popping. The blood staining his pants and shirt seemed to pour in on itself, sinking back into the cut as the skin sewed back up and muscles reconnected.

After what seemed like days, the healing finished, and his skin was now unblemished, besides the pale scar criss-crossing his temple, a small patch of roughness at his elbow, a line at his sternum, and more than likely scars at outer and inner thighs…

But she wasn't looking there.

She released his jaw into and crossed his arms in his lap. With gentle fingers she brushed the raven hair from his eyes, her thumb wiping a trickle of blood off. Unconsciously, as if searching for warmth, he leaned into her hand, a slight, sleepy smile on his features.

But the peaceful scene was not to last. Her soldier sense were ringing intensely.

The elf glanced about her, noticing the lack of life in this area. Either everyone was dead, still unconscious, or just not around. How odd...

A stirring from behind her caused her to jerk around, still cradling Artemis's head protectively to her chest. Butler stood shakily behind them, and pressed a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. She nodded, but noticed how his eyes looked over her shoulder and not at her. Her eye narrowed.

Just as she turned her head to see what he was staring so intently at, he whipped out his gun and fired a shot: the barrel pointing straight at her.

A silent scream echoed from her throat as the bullet passed over her shoulder, past Artemis's prone, unconscious form and past them…

Straight into the forehead of a person behind them.

This time the scream truly came out as she whipped her head around to see her would-be-assailant. Before her stood a woman, dark features of gray stormy eyes and woodland brown hair framing the forehead which was now pierced with a black hole. The lady slowly fell backwards onto the pavement with a sickly thump. Holly put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stop even more bile from rising- apparently this was not her day.

She turned back to Butler, who had strode to her side and stared down at Artemis.

"I watched you heal him." He said simply.

She nodded, a little color rising to her cheeks. "Ah."

She ran a distracted hand through the genius's hair as Butler checked the woman's vitals.

"Er, thanks… that was rather... unexpected."

No answer.

"Butler? I was thanking you. It is the proper response to acknowledge that, you know."

"Holly…"

She frowned. He sounded- dare she say it- frightened.

"Yes?"

An audible gulp. "C'mere."

She gently laid Artemis's head onto the hood, and slid down onto the pavement, flitting between debris and scraps. As she neared Butler's side, she saw him feeling the woman's vitals.

"Holly, put your hand on her pulse."

She complied, reaching a hand to her pale neck, fully expecting a mushy feeling of dead muscle. Instead, she felt firm tendon and… a pulse.

There was a strong, normal pulse reverberating within this… creature's neck. She was alive. With a bullet in her forehead.

Holly pulled her hand back like it had been stung, gaping at Butler and pointing at the woman. He shrugged, and to cover up his fear, nonchalantly threw the body- no, creature- over his shoulder. He looked expectantly over at Holly.

"So, do you have a ride, or are we walking all the way to the Manor…"

Shaking her head and ditching thoughts on the weird person for a minute, she smirked. How the heck would they get to the Manor with two unconscious people?

_One _Fowl_, one _creature_. Must not forget that…_

"Of course I have a ride. I got Foaly to grab a Recon shuttle that was in repair for a damaged booster. It works like a bullet, just not as fast as the norm."

Butler nodded, resituating the woman over his broad shoulders and stepping to Artemis's side with the intent of picking up his charge. Holly shoved his hand away, however.

"It's alright, Butler. I will get Artemis. I thought ahead and packed a Moon belt, but you know that can't support your weight, you fatty."

He smiled broadly and poked her, which had the effect of a troll breathing on a dust mite: pushing her over.

She laughed as he picked herself up from the gravel and clipped Artemis around the chest and covering him with cam foil. While opening her wings she gaze Butler one final salute and jumped into the air. By his ear, she spoke, handing him a rather ostentatious ring, which seemed oddly reminiscent of the one Artemis always wore.

"Follow the tracker on this. You can follow me. It is only about a mile. Oh…"

Her voice faded. "...And keep up."

He chuckled and lunged a large hand out from her, but with his charge in her arms, he decided he would not hit her.

All he heard was a faint, bell-like laugh and she was off, the tracker dot in the ring's center moving erratically.


	6. What Canst thou Know?

**I am making a soundtrack with this! most chapters will have a song title posted atop the story. This chapter is from the Chronicles of Narnia, 'Only the Beginning Of The Adventure.' ...In case ya wanted to put it on behind. :)**

* * *

_Canst thou by searching find out God? canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection? It is as high as heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than hell; what canst thou know?_

_Job 11:7-8_

**Fowl Manor Library**

Artemis was all business.

"First, Butler… Put our guest in the cell. Make sure our cameras are operational. Second, Holly. Sit there," here he gesticulated to the plush leather chair beside him, "I have a lot of explaining to do."

Each only nodded in silence, Butler with an I-am-used-to-the-sudden-industrious-attitude kinda look, and Holly in a what-the-heck-happened-to-him look. Artemis, though, was oblivious to all the looks, as he shoved the myriad of papers off his desk, threw pencils and pens into the desk drawer, and- rather unceremoniously- tossed a considerably old book onto the floor beside him. Pencil shavings were brushed off, and the surface was brought to light. He huffed excitedly, and sped over to the towering bookshelves that were staggered across the two-story affair.

For a moment, it must be noticed that, even at this dreary and worrisome time, there seemed to be no notice from the weather, as a rather enchanting light was strewn through the library, glancing off old bindings and making wood panels glow. It seemed something was at work here, something… though clichéd, magical. Holly blinked owlishly against the sudden light flooding in on her.

A _humph_ brought her back to reality, and she spun around to see Artemis, arms laden with books, carrying them over to the recently cleared desk. The dramatic lighting lit his black hair in a halo, the raven color seeming to drink in the light. And his skin, while so pale, turned a slightly more rosy color than normal. The gold bindings of the books reflected the sun with a blinding twinkle.

A thin eyebrow rose in question of her stare, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Holly was flabbergasted, to say the least.

"How are you... so calm?"

He shrugged. "I have to stay detached." His expression darkened. "As of the moment, I have to keep myself from utterly going berserk, … My mother and the twins are still unaccounted for, in the chaos formerly known as Killarney school district. Father is in Leatromach, Untied States. I am trying to stay calm. There will be absolutely no going in there or reaching anyone… I will have to wait it out."

And then, like that, his dark demeanor was gone, and he brightened again under the chance of new knowledge.

The books were put defiantly on his desk with a bang, and his lean hands sifted through them quickly, finding one in the middle of the stack, and pulled it out hastily. Holly sank slowly into her chair, the old leather creaking in protest, and never took her eyes off the book.

"So." He started, opening his mouth to continue, but then lurching out of his chair to reach the remote. Three televisions instantaneously turned on, each on separate news channels, blasting reports on the disappearance.

Poor Holly was utterly confused. He was just… serenely sitting there, fingers interlocked and eyes half lidded, watching the televisions intently as footage of the chaos scrolled across the screen. Children missing from the womb, doctors disappearing into thin air as their clothing fell atop their patients, newscasters and cameramen who vanish, leaving equipment to fall to the ground. Cars flipped off roads with no driver, careening into others. Crowds of people just poofed from a private school are little league soccer game, leaving all but one player. That player had taken his own life, probably out of fear.

At some point Butler slid in, resuming the position of the chair to Artemis's right, looking for all the world like this eccentric, professor-like man was indeed Artemis.

While Holly was bemusing the sudden change in her colleague, the televisions shut off, and Artemis leaned forward with an inquisitive look.

"So." He began, once again. "We have a global catastrophe of monstrous proportions. People have disappeared left and right, only leaving their clothing to prove they were ever there. Chaos has ensued, considering all the congested- if not totally blocked- roadways, planes falling from the skies, and government officials simply gone. And Ireland's Prime Minister has declared… what, Holly?"

She stared at him blankly. "Hmm…?"

He sighed. "Were you not listening, Holly? The Republic of Ireland's Prime Minister had declared Martial Law until further notice, and it seems that Queen Elizabeth is most likely among the missing, as the United Kingdom is in a state of… basically unofficial martial law, as they are in more chaos than we. It seems that Europe and the Americas were hit harder than the rest of the world. The Asia and Middle Eastern countries were still hit significantly, but mostly not important officials. I think…" he muttered the last bit, seeming to be considering a thought. "Yes... that might be a clue."

He shook himself. "Anyway. There seemed to be no specific pattern to these disappearances; only that it took all the young children. Other than that, they seemed entirely random. Though more connections may yet arise, as it is still early."

Silence. He gave each of them an appraising look. Then asked a seemingly random question.

"Do either of you have any religious beliefs, or believe in a higher power, or along the lines of supernatural?"

Both shook their heads, Holly with a scoffing look. "Artemis, we gave that up _years_ ago. Never worked anyway. "

He nodded thoughtfully. "Me neither. But, friends, it seems times are changing. We… might need to open our minds a little."

Upon seeing his companion's quizzical looks, he continued, by turning his open book to face them.

It was a full of nonsensical illustrations of wheels, men and women, and sheep… all in the style of renaissance drawings. The colors were vibrant and full, though faded and pixilated enough to know that this was a reproduction of a very old book.

Holly tapped the writing, the curves large and scrawling. "Artemis… what is this?"

"This," he said critically," Is Nostradamus's prophecies. I have collected them for some time, finding them to be an interesting conundrum."

Butler leaned forward, staring at the pages quizzically. "And... what do they mean?"

Artemis held up a hand for patience. 'Watch."

He then pulled out another book, this time an ornately decorated Bible. He slid a hand down the table of contents and found his page, flipping there quickly. When he laid it out beside the prophecies, it seemed frivolous.

Holly looked at him as if he were insane. "The Bible and Nostradamus? _That_ solves our problems?"

The genius smiled indulgently, leaning back into his chair and tapping his fingers together with an air of superiority. "Now, Holly. You must know by now that I have a point to all of this." He gestured to the televisions. "So here is the rundown. At about eleven this morning, millions of people around the world vanished, with no traces as to their whereabouts. It has only happened once, and as of yet, no fairies have been affected. This leads to the suggestion that it might be of human origin." Here he held a hand out to the books in front of him.

"The age criteria of this incident is undetermined at this time, though it is certain that it took all babies. Why, no one knows. Obviously, human technology is at no level of ability to do this. That rules out ourselves. Alien attack? I think we may rule that out as well: it has no purpose. Most of our governments are still here, just in chaos. Though, it has enough uncertainties to be a possibility. That leaves: supernatural, fairy, or… something unknown."

"Hey-"

Artemis held up a pacifying hand. "Holly, I hardly believe it was truly fairies. We don't have enough enemies to create either magical corona or technology for this. Supernatural? Please: I know that we proved the existence of ghosts by the fact that I am _alive_, but as I ghost, I could not affect the living world, except for the occasional whisper. But no physical changes. So… It was not supernatural. Which leaves…"

Butler nodded solemnly. "The unknown."

The dramatic sunlight seemed to have abandoned them, plunging them all into an ominous silence following the latter statement. Each occupant seemed to try to imagine the 'unknown', each with signature facial expressions. Artemis, pensiveness, Holly, worried, and Butler… stony.

Until the phone rang, it's shrill ring thrusting through the silence like a knife.

**0**

**Scoil Mhainchin Buach, Primary School**

**School District, Limerick City, Ireland**

A small boy, his brown curls barely visible amongst the blood and ash, darted to and fro in the crowd. Barely past any adult's thighs, he made a scraggly sight, with his torn and bloodied suit and ash-coated backpack. While the emergency workers rushed to put out fires, police officers tried to prevent plundering, and people swerved desperately through the road, the child slid amongst them all, down the sidewalk and to the street corner. His little feet pounded down the concrete, and his spindly arms pumped at his side, the blue eyes wide in terror.

Gray light spilled around the scene, hinted with orange and red from the fire, ash falling like terrifyingly beautiful snow around the pedestrians. People screamed for their loved ones, the cries mingling with those of the sirens and orders of the emergency workers. As the child came to a pounding stop at the street corner, he glanced to the sides frantically, and dove to his right. His light feet carried him to a forlorn telephone booth, the repairs being committed on it paused after the disappearance of the repairman.

His small, chubby hands reached inside the phone, pulling out wire after wire, connecting some and scrapping others. Then after pulling out his grimy hands, he dialed a number and shoved the phone to his ear. His face betrayed a desperate hope, tears marking paths down his gray cheeks.

"C'mon, brother… C'mon…"

The dial tone, however sickly from the quick repair, rang slowly for a few seconds, before dropping into silence. The boy shrieked in grief, pounding the number in again, hoping against hope that it would work. His small hands gripped the phone in a white-knuckled grip.

The dial tone… the dial tone…

"_Mom_? Mom, are you there?" the voice on the other end was firm, but frantic.

"Artemis!" the boy choked out, his throat hoarse from the smoke and tears. "Artemis, it's me!"

"Myles?! Where are you? Where's mother? Beckett?"

He choked down a sob, trying to answer stoically. "Mum... Beckett… they disappeared, Artemis. They're gone… right before my eyes… "

He broke down in tears, and in a frustrated yell. "_Why weren't you there, Artemis? Why didn't you save mum?"_

He slid down the glass partition, sobbing into his grimy sleeve. "Where are you, Artemis? I need help…"

Silence. Then a voice with deceptive calmness. "Okay, Myles… I'm coming. Are you still near the school?"

"N-no. I'm beside St. Mary's Cathedral. In the phone booth."

"Alright, Myles, here is what I need you to do. Hunker down in there. I will have someone there for you. Do you remember that lady I had over, the one you said dressed like an alien?"

Sniffle. "Yes."

"She's coming to get you. Neither Butler nor I can because of the roads. She will get you out of there. Ask her what my spark of decency is. Okay?"

Myles gripped the phone harder as the line started to fill with static. "Okay, Artemis. I'm… I'll stay here…. I love you, Artemis."

"…I love you to, Myles. "

Myles dropped the phone as the line filled, and settled down in a heap of sobs for a long wait.

0

Artemis dropped the phone into its cradle, and sunk into his chair. A hand carded through his hair distractedly as he stared with a frozen expression.

Holly stepped forward to him, shaking his shoulder with a hand.

"Artemis? Artemis, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, trying to form words, but to distressed to do so.

Butler frowned. "_Artemis?"_

He shook his head, and in a breathy voice, finally responded. "Oh God, they're gone, Butler. Mother…Beckett… they're gone…"

* * *

**Sooo... if you are very well educated on 'some of the goings' in the Bible, you just might know where this is heading. If not, it will all be explained in time. No worries. Though, I just want to say, this is going to be llllooonnngggg. So buckle in... :) Love the reviews. thank you SSSOOOO much. :)**


	7. Questions Arise

**Chapter 7  
**

"This is Pan Jay 42, over. Requesting permission to land."

"Control tower 2, responding," the professional tone dropped. "Sorry, man. No one can squeeze in here. O'Hare is jam packed. Couldn't even fit my own grand mum in here. Over."

The pilot blinked. Grand mum?

"Pan Jay responding, over. Anywhere we _can_ land? We have an emergency. Over."

"Control tower 2 responding. Dude, the whole _world_ is having a crisis. Heard yet?"

"Negative. Fill me in."

"People are _gone_. Like some Star-Trek thing. All over the world, chaos, chaos, chaos. N one knows what the heck is going on. Was that your problem?"

"Yes. About fifty, some elderly, some middle-aged, and all children."

"Yep. Same here in the tower. It's just like, they-re their one second, and then they poof away… Only their clothing is left."

"This is going to be a problem."

A scoff came over the line in a burst of static. "Ya think? This is definitely uncharted waters… But back to the flight issue. Proceed over to Manhattan. I think they have a few open strips, if you hurry."

"Roger. Good luck."

The pilot sighed, rubbing a hand down the bridge of his nose, and pulled off the headset. What was happening, and why the heck was he involved?


	8. An Angel Before Thee

**Chapter 8  
**

**Fowl Manor, Basement Level**

**Room 9**

_'Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.'  
Exodus 23:19-21_

Marcy woke to the feeling of bone-numbing cold.

Literally. It was that cold.

She shivered, and opened her eyes only to a slit, observing her unfamiliar surroundings intently. No window, one metal door -undoubtedly locked- and a metal cot, which she was lying on. The light around her seemed to have no identifiable source, though the stark room was brightly lit. Both flooring and walls were solidly built: the first of tile and the latter of brick. Though, on the far side of the wall, seemed to be a slight indention in the floor, shoddily covered in a small square of marble, and the scuff marks of a moved bed suggested what the hole was.

A tentative hand reached up to her forehead, feeling the slight wound still left there. It had progressed into a mere faint bruise, thankfully. Her hip, however, felt very odd with the absence of her trusted Beretta.

As she sat up, she noticed the lone camera in the corner, taking no worry to conceal itself. How quaint. She smirked and did a little wave.

It did not take long. Only moments later, a massive man (Domovoi Butler, if she remembered correctly) stepped into the doorway, his shoulders filling the door-frame. A pair of dark, wrap-around sun glasses concealed his eyes and made his expression seem extremely stern.

His deep gravelly voice echoed through the sparse room. "Ma'am, I need you to come with me."

She shrugged, throwing her legs over the edge of her cot, standing steadily. The smirk did not leave her face as she interlocked her fingers behind her head.

"Hmph. Pro at this, aren't ya?" Butler huffed, as he strode over to her, one gigantic wrist grasping both of hers' and one patting her down.

After finding her to be weaponless, he pulled her wrists behind her back, cuffing them professionally, and wrapped a thick blindfold around her face. She hissed as it chaffed the bruise, but that only made him tug harder.

Her steps were jerky and fast as Butler led her out of the room, his pace much longer and faster than her normal one. She was sure that he led her down many wrong turns, through lengthy passages and echoing corridors, and finally, to a room that radiated much more… energy… than the rest of the manor.

She was forced down into a plush leather chair, normal except for the fact that there were restraints made on the armrests, as if expecting the next prisoner.

The slight shuffle of feet on carpet, and the swish of a balcony door, caused Marcy to cock her head slightly in that direction.

A murmured 'Come around the back' filled the silence, and then the shutting of the door cut off the sound

A slight creak of leather sounded from across her, and she heard the slight rasp of cufflinks on a wooden table. Then the roll of wheels on carpet, and... Silence.

"So, young lady. You were unfortunately not fast enough to escape Butler, and now... you are here. What is your name?"

She stayed silent, only allowing a coy smirk to curve her lips.

The voice was cold and intelligent, she could tell as much by the lilt. And, obviously, by the accent, a young Irishman.

Lord help her.

"Ah. The silent type, aren't you? Well, I see I will have to do this myself."

Silence reigned once again, though Marcy could hear the slightest sounds of fingers tapping together, the only indicative that the young man before her was thinking.

"You have a slight European accent, from what I heard in your sleep. Though the accent was also tinged with that of Dutch and African. Therefore, I assume you to be from the South African region, though your skin tone does not suggest this, nor do your facial features. You have a slight mix of everything in you, don't you? "

He paused for a moment, and she could feel his cold gaze running along her, analyzing her.

"You hoodie is a brand only available in Leatromach, United States, but the jeans are sized in European measurements, as obvious by the tags still hanging on the right pocket. You shoes are made in India and shipped to England. Your hair, recently washed from the blond dye, is still drying, and carries the slight tinge of a certain wash that is only available, also, in the LUS. "

"The classification of the grass, plastered to your shoes, though slightly coated from ash from M7, is only found in the LA region of LUS. And the slight shadow of nail polish adorning your nails, is, if I remember correctly, Blizzard Blue, also only available in the LUS."

She smiled, though the smile was slightly more forced.

Artemis ran a finger down his lips in a thoughtful gesture.

"You, my dear, are racking up quite the record of Leatromach familiarities. Though, I know that this was not your former outfit, and is, indeed, a cover."

Marcy froze.

"On your right earring is a piece of cloth, hardly noticeable except to a person like myself. The cloth is of a white, stretchy material, mostly found in woman's tank tops, which, is not the same as the one you are wearing under your hoodie. The make-up on your cheeks is hastily scrubbed off, though there is still some there, enough for me to know that it clearly does not match your skin tone, and covers you up very well. A slight red smear runs along your neck, with a textures pattern of handy wipes. You, miss, have recently disposed of a rather scandalous outfit. Presumably…at a bar in LA, seducing a crime lord?"

He paused, and then spoke with a tone of off-handed agreement.

"Actually, that is a very clever disguise. That kind of makeup is one of the best brands in the underworld, used for the best covers. "

Silence. Marcy exhaled slowly, hoping he would not-

"I know who, and what you are."

She froze.

"You are not from here. Your voice is mixed because you are all of us. Your voice has timbre of mesmer. No, not a compliment, but a truth. While you were unconscious in the shuttle, I took the liberty of slicing your wrist. My suspicions were confirmed when you healed instantly, though without sparks. Also judging from the very prominent vestigial wing structures jutting from your back, you are a separate branch of the fairy populace.

She gasped, barely audible, and then froze.

And smiled.

"You are good." Her voice reminded Artemis of that of a fox, coy and smooth. "But I would expect nothing less from you, Tiamat."

Silence. Artemis cocked her head at her, mentally deciphering the word in his mind.

"Monster? You believe me to be a monster?"

Once again, Marcy only smiled.

"All will be revealed.'_Withal praying also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak the mystery of Christ, for which I am also in bonds.' "_

Artemis looked to Butler, with a raised brow. The man shrugged.

Marcy, sensing their confusion, continued.

**_"'_**_Unto__ you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God: but unto them that are without, all these things are done in parables:' …__a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;__"_

Artemis started, staring at her with amazed, stunned eyes, before responding.

_"'The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels.' "_

He advanced on her, placing both hands on the arm rest and staring, seemingly into her eyes, through the blindfold. His voice rose in intensity and urgency.

_'And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings of thy harvest.'_

Marcy froze.

Artemis stared.

"You are an angel."

**0**

The scene before Holly was dark and dreary, with the sky dull and unnaturally chilly. Gray clouds of ash streaked towards the sky, obscuring the sun and blocking any warmth that could, possibly, permeate the atmosphere.

The same was the state of Holly's mind.

_What could have done something of this magnitude? Artemis mentioned the 'unknown'... what was that?_

She flitted around building spires, the slight updrafts of wind carrying her leisurely with little to no power expense. Flames, climbing up a few buildings, came close to licking her stomach before she danced around them.

_What was happening below ground? Why did she feel the utter need to check on Artemis... and Butler, and the Fowls? _

_Would this happen to them? Would... whatever took them... come back? Take all her human friends? Her fairy friends?_

She stalled in the air, an icy knife of fear plunging into her heart. An old fear, one suppressed for so long, rose into her throat.

_Would she be left alone, again?_

_With no one?_

She shuddered, flying faster and faster, shaking off the feeling. No matter how she felt about this, she would not leave Myles alone to.

Her flying rate increased, zooming past clouds and people, through street alleys, past spires.

Eventually, through the dirt and gloom, she found Myles, huddled inside the telephone booth. Tears adorned his cheeks as he looked up at her, his eyes starry. She alighted gently on the pavement, still shielded, and curled beside the boy to un-shield. He smiled.

"Hello, Ms. Holly."

She smiled, wiping a fresh tear off his rosy, ash clad cheek. She had always had a soft spot for the Fowl young boys, whom she had met when Artemis was in care for his Atlantis Complex.

"Hey, Myles. You okay?"

He nodded slightly, hugging her around the neck. "I'm scared, Ms. Holly."

She stared for a second, surprised at how candid he was. But then she stood, pulling the boy, who was _almost_ as tall as her, though still lighter, into her arms. He pulled in closer, displaying every bit of his vulnerability.

Holly nudged his cheek with her nose, prompting him to pull out of her neck.

"Hey, I'm going to cover you in cam-foil so I can fly. If you hang on tight, I can wrap you up so tight that you'll be all snug and warm."

A blurry smile formed on his face. "Okay."

Her arms wrapped around him tightly, feeling sweet love wrap around her heart as she pulled the cam-foil around his chilly body like a cloak. No part of his body poked out, making him resemble a shiny cocoon.

Two steps carried her out of the booth, and she bent at the knees, her back arched slightly forward for both the extra weight and a better grip.

"Up, up..." she sprang into the air, wings whirring for a second to compensate for the extra load. "And away!"

They soared through the smoke, smog and clouds, him clutching her neck, and his little button nose buried into her hair. His hand, still small with youth, gripped her uniform in a tight grip. Holly's coffee-colored one eventually found his, and they both held each other, each thinking and worrying over their own crises.

**0**

Artemis's mind was reeling as he wandered through the library, trying to find some space to think. An Angel? Sure, he had come to believe in fairies, obviously. But Angels?

He didn't know if he could accept that.

Yet all the evidence pointed to that.

He huffed, carding a hand through his still slightly bloody hair, and glanced over to the…lady.

She still sat defiantly in his father's custom made chair for his former business partners. Her back was straight and her breathing even, though the slight tapping of her right foot gave away her nervousness.

She was obviously a professional, but so was he. And apparently, not many people had ever found out her nature.

This tangent of thought, however, was only a distraction from the real problem.

Mother… Beckett…

They were gone.

Where? Why?

Artemis growled in frustration, slamming a hand against an oak panel of the bookshelf. There was no _order_ to this. No pattern he could rule from, no equation he could fit into. The trail of thought he had going with Butler and Holly was , truly, all he knew. And only a guess at that.

What was happening to the world, and how would he face it without Mother and Beckett? Beckett's smiling little face each morning, annoyingly perky despite the early hours he would awaken the household. Mother's calm reassurance when Artemis felt alone, her soft touched and words that kept him grounded. Her guidance when his mind was gone, her love when he came back to life…

What could he hold onto now?

He let his head fall, none too lightly, against the shelf, taking a deep breath. There should be no freaking out. If the world was out of order, in chaos…

It was his job to fix it.

Just as he stood in fresh resolution, a slight rapping at the large double doors alerted Artemis to Holly's return.

He heard Butler strode over to the doors, whisper to her the state of the prisoner, and allow her in. Her quick, light steps carried her through the aisles, and she soon found Artemis.

"Hey, Myles is fine, He was tired, though. I set him down in his bedroom, which he so kindly led me to. He fell asleep almost instantly. Though, I would definitely recommend a bath. I am not sure how he remained unscathed in the wreckage, but he _is_ covered in grime."

Artemis started. "A crash?"

Holly nodded sadly. "Yes… apparently your mom was picking up the twins as this phenomenon happened, and they wrecked when she disappeared. I know they weren't dying in the car, though." She said upon seeing Artemis's incredulous look. "I dove around as I flew to Myles. Only their clothing was left inside."

The teen nodded, solemnly, then looked up as Holly laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I really am sorry, Artemis. I under- I hope we find them."

He sighed, and then pulled her a little farther into the matrix of shelves.

"The prisoner woke." He whispered. "She would not speak, but I have made some… interesting deductions, which I know to be true."

She cocked her head, the darkness of the room giving her eyes extra depth.

'I know you might not believe it, but… she is an angel."

Holly started, then nodded her head. "I thought as much." She concluded the sentence by walking briskly away. Much to accepting.

"Holly!"

He whispered harshly, striding to catch up with her. "Holly, whatever it is you know, I need you to tell me. Every piece of information is vital-"

She rounded back to him impatiently. "It is all old fables, Artemis. Nothing of importance."

Artemis made a revolving motion with his hand, as if to guide her on.

She huffed. "Don't laugh at me. Fairies... in old days, we were sure that we came from angels. It was just from old myths we would recite and pass down from generation to generation."

Artemis gave her an analytical look. Not one of mistrust, but one of thoughtfulness.

"Come on. Let's go... confront our angel."

They both made their way to the desk, with the lady situated in the chair facing it. She still sat ramrod straight, the only features hinting that was not, indeed, a statue, was the slight smirk on her face.

Although Artemis was very intelligent, he had almost _to_ _much_ tact; it took forever for him to get to a point, sometimes, with all his rattling on and on about clues and hints. But Holly was not quite like that. She was a typical soldier: straight to the point, no dawdling, and get it done. As was demonstrated, in her behavior.

"So, angel, huh? What's your name, pretty flyby?"

A smile.

"No? I heard that you gave Artemis the silent treatment, too. Just so you know, I don't appreciate it. Don't think I have forgotten that you tried to kill us."

Silence.

The silence was answered with a resounding slap that echoed through the whole cavernous room. A red hand print quickly welled up on the Marcy's' cheek, her face turned slightly to the side. She slowly revolved her head back to face them, anger practically emoting from her.

"It is best" she said, salaciously and calmly, "That you do not do that again."

Holly snorted, her features sarcastic. "Really? Don't ever mess with a lady tied to a chair, blindfolded, and handcuffed... said no one _ever_."

A slow chuckle rang through the room. "Of course, Holly. Because no one has ever met my kind."

Holly blinked.

How did she know her name?

Marcy cleared her throat. It was time to reveal herself.

"My name you will never know, for it is a new name given unto me, only known my our Heavenly Father. But you may address me as Marcy, or the Red Rover Killer, whichever you prefer."

Butler started. He remembered that name.

"Congratulations, all of you. You have made it to my Purgatory. And-"

She tilted her head back, the blindfold, loosened from the slap, sliding down to reveal one intensely gray eye.

"You have been left behind."

* * *

**Just to answer some reviews and things that people might need to know:**

**1) It is absolutely no problem if you do not know the Bible connection with this, I aim to explain it all. **

**2) It is very, very much like the Left Behind Series. Actually, I will base a lot off of that, as it is the most realistic fictional (realistic… fictional… ?) representation of the events of Revelations. But on the same note, I have not read it in over 3 years. So if there are a lot of similarities, then there are probably more coincidental than purposeful. So if you have read that, then this is going along those lines, just with the typical AF/ In Christ Alone/ Eoin Colfer/my bad memory twists. (He he he…)**

**3) It will be A/H. I love that shipping. Though it will be quite gradual, and it will take a while to get there. But rest assured, it will happen. A/H FOREVER!**

**4) I have never actually been to Ireland, sadly, (very, very, **_**very**_** sadly) though I **_**am**_** 3rd generation Irish from Co. Tipperary. :D We retain some of the accent, too. (Thank **_**goodness**_**.) All info I have is from my heavy research and Google Earth. **

**5) All of these verse are in King James Version.**

**6) Leatromach, the new government in North America… the name is Irish Gaelic for 'oppressive.' Or, at least, that is what a highly- accredited Irish translator website says. I had known that, but there are some sources that say in Scottish Gaelic it means 'pregnant'. I am going for the 'oppressive'… not 'pregnant.' :)**

**7) The verses Marcy says are:**

Colossians 4:2-4

Mark 4:10-12

Ecclesiastes 3:7b

And she eludes to a verse in Revelations about a new name written on a white stone... I can't remember it now... I'll get it for you later.

**And Artemis:**

Matthew 13:38-40

Leviticus 19:8-10


	9. A Deal with the Devil

**Chapter 8  
**

_'They hunt our steps, that we cannot go in our streets: our end is near, our days are fulfilled; for our end is come.'  
Lamentations 4:17-19_

**Villa Massalia Concorde Luxury Hotel**

**Fourth Floor**

**France**

The scene of their love making was quite obvious around them, with the discarded clothing and violently thrown sheets. The young couple, buried within the confines of the duvet, slept soundly in the quiet, soft light of the early sunrise, which flitted in through a crack in the curtains.

Colin Samuel, his shock of honey hair glowing from the light exposure, lifted his head from the maroon pillow and stared into the face of his lover, whose face was buried in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyelashes brushed his chest as she inhaled and exhaled slowly, the warmth of her breath soothing his skin.

He smiled, a half, crooked smile, and swept a rough hand through her tangled golden hair, marveling at how something so mortal could be so amazingly beautiful.

Colin made a handsome figure, with his caramel hair, vivid green eyes, and perfectly shaped jaw. His features hinted at a slight Eurasian descent, and his broad shoulders proved his strength. The most arresting of his countenance, however, was his smile. It was not quite perfect, first stretching to one side in a smirk and then evening out on the other. It was a smile that could suggest anything you imagined it to. One that was charismatic and beautiful.

She stirred, her stormy, gray-brown eyes opening and smiling peacefully at him, before digging her feet farther into the sheets for the heat he provided. But before her golden crown could quite disappear all the way into the blankets, he grasped her shoulder, pulling her back out to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead.

She groaned. "Ngh... The sun is so _bright_."

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her small form. She settled in farther, acquiescing to his need. Her chin came to rest on his collar bone, and her arms wrapped securely around his broad chest. They sat in silence for a long time, watching the sun climb slowly and steadily over the city around them.

"My dear?" Her voice was so richly husky. Colin shivered.

"Hm?"

"We really…shouldn't be enjoying ourselves this much if half the world just disappeared."

Colin shrugged, drawing his lips along her neck. The skin was so soft and warm, with perhaps a slight hint of honey.

"I don't see why we shouldn't. Neither of us were magic-ed away, and for that, we should be thankful. I fail to see the problem in this."

She chuckled. "Your reasoning is infallible, as always. And coming from me, that's quite good."

"Indeed. Now, shall I trust that you enjoyed our tryst, or should I redouble my efforts to ensure you forget your sweet, if silly, guilt over our night?"

A slight purr vibrated from her throat as she leaned up and kissed his jawbone. "You might just have to redouble your effort, if for nothing but to assuage my rampant emotions."

He smiled wolfishly.

Moments later, after their movements subsided and breathing returned to normal, Colin settled deeper within his lover's embrace and silence, once again, reigned. But the peacefulness of the moment did not last long, as his lover stirred, her golden head rising turning to look at him.

"Don't you have a meeting to attend, in a couple of hours?"

He grunted, burying his head into her hair.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Hmmm. I was so sure..."

She sat up, propped on her elbows, much to her lover's dismay. Well, dismay until he caught... what an _advantageous_ _view_ there was to this.

Though his gaze was darkening in lust, she pressed on, unperturbed.

"I was so sure, that this meeting... Wasn't it with the LUS's President?"

Colin cursed, springing his lithe body out of bed, ignoring her chuckles as he scrambled to find all of his articles of clothing.

As he slid his pants on, he could feel her gaze running up and down his exposed form. Moments later, as he adjusted his tie accordingly, his appearance formal and stare a practiced, calculating stare.

"You look…" her voice was coy and smooth. "Rather dashing, my love."

After one last, tender kiss, he strode out of the room, leaving their secret love and pleasure behind.

Off to the real world, warmed only with a briefcase and the lies of a well-pressed suit.

**0**

**12 hours later**

**Washington D.C,**

**Leatromach, United States**

**Undisclosed Airport**

His quick steps rapped against the tile flooring, carrying him over to the rich mahogany door leading to the conference room aboard Air Force One. He brought his hand up hesitantly, and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the onslaught to come.

The knock was steady and sharp, and an agent opened the door for him, ushering him into the highly secure, rich room. An air of sternness accompanied the office, along with the leather- like smell that whooshed into his lungs.

Six men sat around the dark table. Each were impeccably dressed, room their polished shoes to their wired ears.

One man, however, stood out amongst the rest, as the President. His gaze was more cold, and his countenance calculating. The pin-striped suit he word accented the slight gray at his blond temples, and that in turn made his icy eyes seem even more menacing.

"Hello, Mr. Samuel. Please have a seat. "

Colin nodded and stepped to the chair beside him, sinking into the plush, cold brown leather, and set his briefcase on the floor beside him.

All eyes were turned on hm. He gulped silently.

Then, as if a bell had been struck, they all resumed talking over each other, turning this way and that, as if bartering over something. Colin sat silently in their midst, wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into.

President Lakely leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, his blue eyes gaining a glint of mischief and warmth.

"They are like sniveling dogs after a coon, are they not?"

Colin smiled and nodded, watching them argue. Several men, probably foreign diplomats, spoke in other tongues, speaking so rapidly that even Colin's trained ear missed the words.

"So, son." Lakely's accent held a strong weight in the Southern category. "What are they saying? I don't have my translator in."

Colin stared pensively at a chubby, balding, Asian man. After a moment of analyzing, he turned to the President and rolled the translation rapidly off his tongue.

"They are trying to decide whether this could be a terrorist attack or not. And whether they can trust you."

He shrugged. "A decent question. One I might ask you: Why do _you_ trust me, of all people?"

"Why do you think I trust you?"

"You are much more relaxed than the rest. And, considering I know Polynesian, I already knew that they were warring over trusting me. T'was a test, and nothing more."

Colin stared. This man Lakely was smarter than the average politician. He should be…wary.

Lakely steepled his fingers under his nose. "So, why _do_ you trust me?"

He shrugged and leaned back into the leather padding. "I am not sure. I am not even sure I trust you yet. But you seem… a reputable man."

"Ah. And if I turn out not to be?"

Colin shrugged, a smooth smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Then, it was good business, nothing more."

Lakely's cold stare had Colin thinking he had overstepped his boundaries, but after a moment the man smiled widely, patting him on the back.

"I _like_ this man, Brune. Come get Mr. Samuel a drink." He motioned to a security officer standing at the back.

A dark suited man nodded, smoothly sliding out from his position before Colin waved a hand.

"No, thank you sir. I don't drink."

Lakely shrugged, even as the agent slid invisibly back into his corner. "Your loss, then. But, pray tell, what are you here to advise me on? Something, I assume, about the odd phenomenon upon us?"

"Yes. In a way."

"Well then? Spill."

"I am here from the government of France. I was sent to offer the extent of our military and political power, as an ally, to Leatromach United States, to help in finding the culprit of this heinous attack."

Lakely leaned backward in his chair, scrutinizing Colin with dark eyes. "And, why should I align myself with you if all of these countries," he gestured to the crowd around him, who continued to talk, "have offered the exact same thing?"

"Because, sir, France had an excellent law enforcement force, and will be able to immediately process any information we muster on the case. Also, France is geographically perfect to protect your interests in the Balearic Sea. President Blaise told me to recommend that as a tip. Your reach for the oil will be greatly multiplied, thus ensuring economically balanced prices. Oh," his look grew shrewd, "It will ensure that your… _escapades_… in Luxembourg stay untold."

Lakely's glance sharpened into a glare visibly over the rim of his glass. "What do you know of our dealings there?"

Colin smiled coyly, "Enough to warrant your attention."

The man set his glass on the table and folded his hands in his lap. His glance, once fun and mirthful, had changed into what the rest of the world feared; the cold stare of injustice and power.

'I warn you, Mr. Samuel. This business… is not to be discussed regularly. Your government will be investigated on how you know this."

Colin nodded his caramel head. "To be expected. But remember, in return, you shall not learn much."

"However." Here Lakely adjusted in his seat again, but in a leisurely way more than a nervous way. "What do you have to gain from allying with me?"

Colin smiled. "Why, we get to have one of the most industrious nations in our list of allies. That helps with foreign relations in every way."

"True. To true. But, that is obviously not your main goal."

Colin cocked his head. "So what is it?"

A grin. "You get more security from me. A phenomenon like today's is more likely to strike smaller countries like yours. If you align yourself with us, and this… _disappearance_, happens again, you can then in turn blame it on us. Conspiracy, maybe."

Colin nodded solemnly, shrugging slightly. "Can you blame us? Everyone wants some security in this new crisis. But do rest assured we were not planning this on the purpose of blaming you. Conspiracy, no."

The other man glared slowly, his finger coming to rest on the bridge of his nose, tapping in a thoughtful way. And, contrary to his moods moments ago, a smile suddenly stretched across his hard face and he reached a hand over his drink in a form handshake. Colin nodded warily (was this man schizophrenic?) and shook the hand firmly.

"A deal, Mr. Colin. An alliance, of sorts. Though," his expression darkened once more. "We will be investigating you, however."

Colin nodded and stood, straightening his suit coat and freeing it of wrinkles. As the President started addressing the remainder of the assembly, Colin felt an apprehensive feeling encroach upon him.

He had this odd, wary feeling that he had just made a deal with the devil.

* * *

**So sorry it has taken so long. Thank you, all who nagged me. I needed it. (And keep nagging, please. It helps. Truly.)**

**You see, I was stuck near the _very end_. I just could not figure out how to end it. Grrr... **

**Anyway. Rest Assured, anyone who read Rain Over Shamrocks, I will try to update soon. I _have _been trying. I just cannot get the darn, friggan, _stupid_ ending. Makes me mad. **

**So. I have not been neglecting it, I just can't get it done. **

**But for no, here is this chapter, and now I shall resume making my leather quiver and drawing HolidayBoredom's pic. :) Slan!**


	10. Thy Children Have Forsaken

_How shall I pardon thee for this? thy children have forsaken me, and sworn by them that are no gods: when I had fed them to the full, they then committed adultery, and assembled themselves by troops in the harlots' houses._

_Jeremiah 5:7_

**Chapter 9  
**

**Laodicea Wind Plant**

**Wyoming, Leatromach USA. **

The man's fingers append furiously at the touch screen phone, the taps and clicks of the automated screen annoying the other occupants of golf cart, though barely audible over the whine of the engine. His black hair, dark and straight, whipped belligerently out from under his cream fedora and flickered about in his face, shrouding icy blue eyes the color of kyanite. His prosthetic leg, propped up on the set in front of him and peeking out from under his khaki shorts, sported crayon markings and messages obviously the work of young boys.

It was a group of six men, each impeccably dressed in the casual-but formal way of wearing polo shirts, shorts and fedora caps. Although there were absolutely no golf courses around, it seemed appropriate wear for the surroundings.

Green hills, consisting of both young green wheat and shorter winter wheat, covered the entirety of the large property and laid contrast for the stark white wind turbines that rose like spires from the ground, stretching into the sky with impressive height. It had been a new investment for him- Fowls rarely ventured to this side of the world for business ventures, but following the communications crash he had decided to expand his horizons and resources. His trip here had been an amazingly boring week long, out here in the middle of nowhere with only the bores of higher society to keep him company.

But this topic was far from his mind- indeed, anyone's mind- as he learned more about the happenings of the world around him.

"Feckin' eejit-" he muttered angrily, pressing an indignant thumb harder into the screen as the icon proved that there was indeed, no connection here. The web page froze where it had found that one flicker of signal- the RTE homepage, headlining the disappearance of millions around the world and the destruction throughout Ireland; not only from the unmanned vehicles themselves, but from the raids and riots of panicking civilians.

He had been trying for nearly two hours to contact the Manor staff- but nothing was working. Even the corporation sponsoring this meeting had agreed to postpone this million-dollar deal for the lack of any communication with the outside world. Everyone waited with a baited, stilled breath in fear and anticipation.

Still, he hoped the family was okay- though, deep in the pits of his stomach, he knew he couldn't be that lucky.

He had drawn enough lucky cards. The fates probably wanted payment by now.

The man beside him put a comforting hand on his shoulder and shut the wallet in his hands, hiding the faces of his young wife and child. Artemis clasped it with his own.

He wasn't the only one losing people.

* * *

_Wind whispered through the wisteria and curled around the soft buds, causing them to drop small, deep purple petals into the clearing below. The world held an ethereal presence, its sky a deep blue and the moon full and white, illuminating the scenery along with the seemingly floating lanterns. Trees, in the full bloom of summer, drooped their verdant leaves in a circle, like a winding tapestry that directed the eyes inward to the large crystal bathtub, large enough for three forms. The scene, if witnessed by mortal eyes, would have entranced even the strongest of men into giving their honor to the young woman seated delicately in the center of the naturally made paradise._

_Water, clearer than any seen before, rippled down the woman's bare shoulders and into the bath below her, pooling into a silvery mirror around her and lapping salaciously across her exposed form. Water lilies followed the flow and ripples of the water, sliding gracefully along the surface and intermingling with her long dark hair. Droplets lined her eyelashes in photographic perfection as she shut them, and sighed through ruby lips. A blurred form of her body appeared as a dark shadow, distorted and angular, through the crystal of the tub. _

_A rustling in the leaves behind her disturbed the peacefulness of her countenance, and she spun, her eyes opening to reveal a sharp green color, filled with curiosity. _

_A lone maiden stepped through the shrubbery, a sheer robe of white silk adoring her tanned frame. She smiled sweetly and walked graciously toward her, and upon coming to the tub dropped her robe and slid in with her. She sighed as the ever-warm water greeted her skin. _

_They sat in silence for a moment until the latter woman spoke._

_"So, my dear Taharah, what brings you to the Mikveh tonight? Not planning on going through are you?"_

_Taharah, as she was named, blushed heatedly and lowered her eyes. The other woman laughed lightly and patted her knee. _

_"No need to be ashamed, dear. We all do it. It's so easy, too… But do tell me, don't you think Mother Ahava will dismiss you for your young age?"_

_Taharah raised her chin defiantly, lips definitely turned in a firm frown. "I am just of age, I'll have you know, Nasha. I am hardly the young ones you tutor at the palace."_

_She shrugged, her tanned shoulder giving off a soft golden glow. "I never said that… I just wonder if you're ready."_

_"What could be so difficult about it? You said yourself that they are easy… I want to see the rest of the world."_

_Nasha extended an arm, scrubbing some of the purifying water down her arm slowly. "Hmm… alright, then. Do not say I didn't warn you of Ahava's wrath. She will not be pleased to see you involved in such activities."_

_Taharah pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I know. I… I'm just tired of this life. I need to see what was made from this."_

_As Nasha stepped out from the tub, her long legs folding to step over the lip, she looked at Taharah with a warning present in her intense eyes. _

_"I'm telling you, Taharah. I won't tell you that you can't go. But be prepared- the world below… is nothing like our paradise. Our visits are sometimes the only good thing that happens to the poor men down there. And we aren't even supposed to go down there."_

_"I know." She nodded her understanding solemnly._

_Nasha extended an arm out to her. Taharah grasped it with a smile and levered herself out of the water, the warm running down her body in a wave of pureness that left her breathless. Nasha's look of camaraderie strengthened Taharah's nerves somewhat. _

_"So... Are you ready? To commit to your first?"_

_Taharah gulped and nodded, wrapping an arm around herself, more out of nervousness than chill._

_Though she would never admit how much this venture really and truly made her nervous. She had never set foot outside their little paradise; never saw the real world outside. And out there, there was only one purpose for her kind. _

_To seduce and give pleasure. _

_And whether or not any of their group admitted it, it was a dangerous game that they played. And one that they would inevitably lose, someday._

* * *

**Sorry it's a shorter chapter.**

**If anyone is curious, however, this little subplot (In italics) that will eventually converge with the real plot, is based after the book of Enoch, a 'book of the bible' that wasn't approved by Emperor Constantine, and therefore not in any modern translations. But if you look this up on the web, it is an amazingly fascinating and, if ever proven true, really explains the angel's side of the stories and what happened to the giants of Anakim. So cool. :)  
**

**BTW, for any of you 'Rain Over Shamrocks' followers: I shall be updating (hopefully) soon... See, it's not that I am lazy. I can only really write on inspiration. If I am not inspired, or not in the mood, it turns out awkward and stiff. I can only write on inspiration. So, hopefully soon. Wish me luck. :)**

**Hello again.**


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